


On the Outs

by crossingwinter



Series: ASOIAF Drabbles & Ficlets [8]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:49:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/pseuds/crossingwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are the outsiders at the party.  You do the math.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Outs

“Will you hate me?”  Renly looked like a puppy.  

It was always like this.  Renly spotted a man from across a crowded room, and then went over to determine if he was gay or straight.  If he was gay—Renly would probably leave with him at some point in the evening.  (Renly was kind of unstoppable that way.)  If he was straight, Renly would try to determine if he was closeted, or make an attempt to prove that he wasn’t trying to hook up with him in the first place.

Brienne glanced at the man that Renly was staring at.  He had soft brown curls and was wearing a very slim-cut suit.

She took a deep breath and shook her head.  “You’re the best.”  He leaned over and kissed her cheek and was gone.

She raised her wine to her lips once again, and glanced at her phone.  She was not above playing freecell for forty-five minutes and then leaving around the same time that Renly either brought this man back to their apartment or gave up and split the cab home with her.

The Starks had good wine.  She wasn’t surprised at all by this, of course.  Just walking into this townhouse (who owns a townhouse in New York?  That’s just not financially responsible…unless you are made of old money, like the Starks) she could tell that even if Renly ditched her (the way that Renly always seemed to ditch her), she would at least not be stuck with Franzia.

Every now and then she looked up from her game to check on Renly’s progress.  The boy he had found was very clearly gay.  Brienne could tell from the way that Renly was standing now.  It wasn’t his “I’m-not-hitting-on-you-what-are-you-talking-about?” stance.  It was his seductor stance.  

She didn’t mean to sigh.  She really didn’t.  But it happened.

“Anything the matter?”

She started and looked around.  She hadn’t even noticed the man standing next to her.  She decided she would blame the fact that he was quite a bit shorter than her—below her natural eye level.

He was very fat, his face was shiny, and his eyes were a sort of pale blue.  He was smiling nervously at her, as though he couldn’t quite believe that he had actually uttered words at all.

“What?  No.  Well, yes, just…” she sighed again.  “It’s complicated.”

“Oh.”  He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, but did not press on.  “Well, if you want to talk about it.”

She blinked.  She’d never seen this man before in her life.  Not even once.  But the way he was standing…there was something so familiar about it.  She couldn’t quite place what.  It certainly wasn’t the way that Renly stood.  He never shifted uncomfortably like that, not even when Robert was drunk and saying stupid things.  He always held his ground. There was something honest about the way he was shifting, about the way that color was rising in his cheeks, about those clear blue eyes, so like Renly’s and yet so very unlike them.

“A friend of mine.  He’s being—” she waved a hand, “he’s being himself is all.  And I just wish sometimes he’d…”

“Not?”

“Yeah.”

The man nodded knowingly.  “I know what you mean.”

“Oh?” she asked, cocking her head.

“Yeah.” He sounded so eager for the conversation.  “I don’t know anyone here, you see,” he said, waving a hand at the crowd of people standing near the cheese or the smoked salmon and talking loudly while drinking bourbon.  “My friend Jon invited me.  I think he wanted someone here in case he needed to flee his step-mother.  But he’s over there chatting with his half-brother and their friend from college and it’s not like I’m surprised.  I mean, he’s really close to both of them.  But I can’t just go over there and interrupt or anything.  I don’t know the other two and…I’m just…I don’t really know how to talk to people.”

Relief flooded through Brienne.  “Renly—that’s my roommate,” she pointed him out.  He was now sitting on a couch with the slim-suited man, showing him pictures on his phone so that they were sitting very close together, “He has a tendency to bring me places and…ditch me.”  The man nodded knowingly.  “I’m Brienne, by the way.”

“Sam,” he said extending a hand.  She tucked her phone into her purse, switched her wine glass to her other hand and took his hand.  It was a little sweaty, but he had a firm grip.  Her father always said you could tell all sorts of things about a man from the way he shook hands.  Her father would have approved of Sam’s handshake.

“What do you do, Sam?” she asked.  Now that they were talking, she realized how glad she was that she wasn’t just standing in a corner on her phone again.

“Security.  I work shifts with Jon,” he said.  “Pretty dull work most of the time.  Night shifts, you know.”  She nodded, knowingly.

“There is nothing worse than night shifts,” she said vehemently.  Then, she smiled sheepishly.  “I’m a cop,” she added.  “Night shifts are the worst.  Everything seems to happen at night.”

Sam chuckled.  “Opposite of security.  Nothing happens at night.  Jon and I have taken to playing cards and stuff while we sit at the desk.”

“I’m sure your employers are thrilled with that.”

“We keep an eye on the tapes, too,” Sam said quickly.  “But for an eight hour shift that starts at eight pm…it’s pretty long.  Though, I suppose…that’s nothing compared to being a cop.”  He nodded at her.

“You never really leave it behind,” she sighed. “It’s nice to get out sometimes, though.  I just wish…”  She glanced over at Renly again.  He had his arm thrown around the shoulder of the man and she knew she’d need to sleep with headphones in that night.  “But I’m glad to be talking to you, of course,” she said quickly, remembering that she wasn’t alone, and that it was rude to remind someone you’ve just met of the things that happen so regularly in your life, lest they think they are just one blip of escapism.  She didn’t want Sam to think he was just a blip.  He was too nice for that.

“It’s lovely to meet you too,” he said quickly.  “I—”

“That’s mistletoe you’re standing under.”  It was another stranger, someone with green eyes and blonde hair and cheeks red from rum.  As one, she and Sam looked up and saw the offending green sprig, complete with white berries and red bow.  “Come on, kiss.”

She looked back at Sam and her stomach dropped. She recognized that look all too well.  That shrinking deep into yourself because why would anyone want you when they could have literally anyone else in the room, and that everyone else is more beautiful than you are so why are you looking at me look.  She saw it in his eyes, his face, his lips, as she saw it in her own whenever she looked in a mirror.

And for that alone she kissed him, bending down to press her lips to his. Almost unconsciously, her hand raised to hold his cheek.

It was a longer kiss than is usually customary for a mistletoe kiss.  Somewhere after the initial shock of contact, Sam’s lips began to move with hers in a gentle, tentative way that made her smile into his mouth.

When they broke apart, the blonde man was gone.  Sam’s face was bright red.  But he was mirroring Brienne’s shy smile and she knew, just knew, that he wasn’t going to slip away.


End file.
